Aethersmith (Book 2) (71 page)

“Not a talker, I see,” replied the nonplussed demon.
Twisting about in the chair, Rashan Solaran got his feet beneath him, and
hopped up onto the Council table, yanking Heavens Cry free of the table,
further cracking it.

“Eket jimagu denpek wanapi.”
Jinzan called forth
bolts of flame, but again his attack struck an impenetrable defense.

Rashan examined his sword, giving it a flick of the wrist to
clean it of Feron’s blood. He began stalking toward Jinzan with a hungry look
in his eyes.

“Once I have that staff away from you, this little war will
be at an end,” Rashan promised.

Jinzan heard the lie, though, clear as if Rashan had said it
aloud. It would merely turn into a one-sided slaughter once there was no one
left to oppose the demon.

Jinzan needed no words to use telekinesis. He used that to
his advantage.

“You know what you must do to—” Jinzan said as he lifted two
of the heavy chairs from behind the demon, “—TAKE IT!”

The two chairs slammed together, crushing Rashan Solaran
from both sides. But the attack caught the demon by not the slightest surprise.
The chairs passed through him to strike one another as he stepped through them,
briefly incorporeal.

“I really have been at this a lot longer than you have. I
read up a bit about you. Excellent student but a bit of an irritable sort.
First on Ranking Day your last two years at the Academy … quite admirable.
Fought in the little rebellion that freed Megrenn from Kadrin rule—with
distinction, it seems. You are even twinborn. Please understand that I
hate
having to kill twinborn. It is a tragic waste, but
that
is how much I
want that staff.”

Jinzan swallowed. He had imagined the encounter differently.
He thought he would be trading spells with the demon like a pair of
bare-knuckle pit fighters. Instead he was finding his attacks ineffective, and
the demon more interested in lecturing than fighting back.

“What are you doing, trying to frighten me into bargaining
the staff for my life?” Jinzan demanded. His mind spun. He shook his thoughts,
angrily demanding an answer to how he could hurt the demon, but no answer came
readily to mind.

“No. Once I realized your limitations, I knew I was in no
real danger from you. You ought to have bargained with more dragons.
Those
are dangerous. They have a draw like that staff gives you, but they know what
to do with it. Blah, blah, blah, spell comes out. It is like fighting an
Academy student. You do not even see your folly; because you know I am a demon,
you are not watching the aether as you attack me.”

Jinzan frowned.
What am I missing?
He switched to
aether-vision. He could locate the demon by the shielding spell around him and
the rune-forged sword in his hand. The demon himself was a ghost in the aether.

“Fetru oglo daxgak sevdu wenlu.”
Jinzan pointed the
Staff of Gehlen at Rashan, striking him with the same lightning spell that he
had just used in Illard’s Glen. Just before he finished his spell, though, he
noticed a change in the shielding spell.

Jinzan snapped his eyes back into the light. He glared at
Rashan, incredulous.

“You changed your shield spell!”

“Blah, blah, warlock recognizes your spell, blah, blah,
shield is ready when you finish. Try your little telekinesis tricks all you
like, but I do not see how you can keep pace with me.”

“I will find a way, you monster!” Jinzan shouted, blustering
to keep despair from engulfing him.

“People call me that, but really, what have I done but wage
war?” Rashan asked. “I enjoy my work, but so does many a general. I may be
guilty of hubris, I admit, but nothing worse.”

“Kidnapping children is nothing worse to you?” Jinzan screamed,
finally striking a telling blow when the demon’s eyes widened in surprise.

“I did what?”

“You would have me believe that you know nothing of my son’s
kidnapping by your pet Acardian?” Jinzan demanded.

“Ahh, I think I begin to see now. You are accusing me of
Brannis’s crimes? Still, I suppose I gave him leave to do as he liked, so I
bear some amount of blame. I think I was enjoying this more when I was firmly
on the moral high ground, fighting off an aggressor in defense of my homeland.”
Rashan brandished Heavens Cry, and leapt toward Jinzan.

Jinzan was caught off guard by the demonic madman’s abrupt
shift of mood. He stumbled back, tentative on the slick footing of the bloody
floor. He drew frantically, piling aether into his own shielding spell. Heavens
Cry was turned aside, but the demon was unrelenting.

I have to get away somehow
, Jinzan realized.
I
cannot win this day. I am no match head-on against Rashan Solaran.

Jinzan tried to use the Staff of Gehlen as a weapon, and
noticed quickly that the demon was mindful of damaging it. Twice Jinzan moved
to block slashing strikes, only to have Rashan pull his attack at the last
moment. Still, Jinzan was no young man, and he would tire soon from the
exertion of the combat, whereas the demon could conceivably keep up his assault
indefinitely. He needed to buy himself the time to make his escape.

“At least I care enough about my son that I will seek to
save him,” Jinzan said, beginning to grow short of breath.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Rashan asked, not pausing
in his assault.

Curse him,
Jinzan swore,
he is too focused.

“If you return to Kadris in time, you may just find out,”
Jinzan answered, trying to give as cryptic an answer as he might, while still
leaving enough to pique the demon’s curiosity. This time, it worked. Rashan
cocked his head to the side, looking puzzled.

“What are you going on about?” the demon asked.

Jinzan had little experience with silent casting of battle
spells. It was, by common agreement of every sorcerer he had studied under,
quite a bad idea. However, since he had never studied with anyone who had
defeated a demon or a warlock, let alone both in one body, he was inclined to
venture outside the realm of commonly agreed upon teachings.

A blast of aether caught Rashan in the chest, launching the
diminutive demon across the length of the Council chamber to slam heavily
against the far wall.

“See you in Kadris!” Jinzan shouted. He took the time only
for that one parting barb before beginning his next spell, drawing for all he
was worth, and with all the might the Staff of Gehlen lent him.
“Doxlo
intuvae menep gahalixviu junumar tequalix ferendak uzganmanni dekdardon vesvata
eho.”

A sphere of aether formed around him. Jinzan had no
intention of heading into the heart of the Kadrin Empire, but he needed
something to convince the demon to leave Zorren once he was no longer there to
at least put up a token defense. All Jinzan could do, as he popped into the
aether, was hope that he had given enough cause for Rashan Solaran to worry.

Chapter 40 - Noble Goals

Wind rustled the leaves of the ash and maple trees, yellow,
orange, and red fluttering like uncounted thousands of tiny pennants. Booted
and slippered feet walked side by side along well-worn footpaths that wended
their way through Darrow Park. It was not along their way, but afforded Brannis
and Soria some peace and a tranquil setting to talk.

“It may be ‘cold,’ Brannis, but it makes sense. If this girl
isn’t Celia, and you don’t fall for their trick, then the conspirators have no
reason to harm her. If you do try to help her, Celia or not, then she is
valuable to them,” Soria reasoned. She was dressed against the cold, in a long
fur coat that looked either brown or black depending which way the light caught
it.

“And if she is Celia, and we do nothing?” Brannis asked.

“Then she fends for herself. If she is Celia, she has it in
her to do whatever it takes to get by,” Soria replied.

“Would it make you happy if she got herself killed because
you left her to her good fortune?” Brannis rather suspected it would, but he
wanted to hear it from her.

“Maybe. Maybe not. I don’t see why I ought to stick my head
in the noose for her, though.”

“You just hate that everyone in Kadrin seems to be pushing
her and Kyrus together. With you married off now, it had to be someone, you
know. Kyrus cannot stay a bachelor forever, not with sorcerous blood like that.
The Inner Circle would never stand for it.”

“You could have picked someone who was not a lying,
murdering … manipulative …” Soria stopped her litany of derogatory adjectives
when she noticed Brannis smiling.

“Seems to be the type of girl who is drawn to me,” he
commented, grinning.

Soria’s jaw clenched, her lips pursed tight—she looked ready
to hit him for a moment. She glanced at Brannis in his armor, and he found
himself thankful that he was rather well protected from physical chastisement.

Soria took hold of his arm for the rest of their walk
through Darrow Park, a possessive gesture to be certain. Brannis shook his head
when she was not looking his way. It was as if they were schoolchildren again,
and she was waiting to hear if they were to be betrothed. Such bald jealously
was unbecoming, but given her recent brush with death—Juliana’s at least—he
could understand her need to cling to him.

When they arrived at Abbiley’s studio home, Brannis
hesitated. The two of them stood at the door, Brannis staring dumbly at it,
unable to move, with Soria still clutching his arm.
It is just a door. She
is just a girl. This is nothing to be nervous about.
Brannis managed to
knock.

They waited again, hearing voices from inside, then
footsteps.

“Hullo, what have we here?” a man greeted them as the door
opened. He was dressed in a gentleman’s manner, with an embroidered red doublet
and black hose, with a gold chain about his neck, bearing a heraldry Brannis
did not recognize. He was not certain by his face, but between Kyrus’s
half-remembered knowledge of the man and Soria’s report, he had to be Tomas
Harwick.

“Hello, might we speak with Abbiley Tillman?” Brannis
managed to ask. He worried that the awkward pause before speaking to the man
was not mistaken for rudeness.

“Of course, of course,” Tomas assured him. “Abby, dearest,
you simply must come here, and meet your guests. You will see why, I promise,”
he called across the studio. There was a sound of something wooden being set
down. A moment later, Abbiley appeared at the door.

A gust of memory extinguished Brannis’s thoughts, leaving
him mute and blank faced while he sought to relight the wick. Luckily Abbiley
seemed similarly afflicted.

“My good sir, I mean no rudeness, but you must come inside,
and see this,” Tomas said, then ushered Brannis and Soria into the studio
before either Brannis or Abbiley recovered their power of speech.

And Brannis saw it. Propped on Abbiley’s easel was … him.
Mirrors had occasionally shown him a better resemblance but just barely. He was
dressed in armor, plainer than Liead’s that he wore, but similar in style to
what he had worn upon his first adventure with Rashan, when they had met in
Kelvie Forest. He was sitting on a log in the middle of a woodland scene,
resting one hand on the pommel of Massacre—the serrated blade of Heavens Cry
and the whimsical sculpted dragon hilt-and-crossguard and all. In his other
hand, upraised, he held a ball of flame. He did not think it was Kyrus in the
picture, but himself. Soria and Juliana swore to the resemblance, but Brannis
knew his own face and Kyrus’s; more importantly, he knew them apart from one
another.

“I say, it is uncanny, do you not agree?” Tomas asked.

“Aye, it is,” Abbiley managed to reply. She sounded just as
Kyrus’s memory would have her, though perhaps a bit more confused.

“Indeed,” Brannis agreed. He looked to Soria, whose eyes
were wide, staring at the nearly finished painting.

“You had said this was a painting of Kyrus Hinterdale
someone commissioned,” the gentleman said. “It certainly looked enough like the
fellow I saw at trial that I would never have spoken a word against it, but it
is strikingly like this fine gentleman before us. Oh, but pardon me, my manners
… My name is Tomas Harwick.”

“Sir Erund Hinterdale. This is my lady, Soria,” Brannis
presented Soria, preferring to leave their exact relationship vague.

“Oh, I was not aware of any Hinterdales in the knighthood,”
Tomas commented.

“My husband’s title was bestowed in Khesh, by Lord Khazen.
He uses the Acardian term to prevent having to explain the intricacies of the
Kheshi Order of Fallen Stars to everyone he meets,” Soria explained, allowing
her Kheshi accent to come through clearly in her Acardian.

“Oh, you have traveled?” Abbiley asked, displaying her
curiosity about the wider world. It was rather unlike Celia, Brannis thought,
but he could still not deny the resemblance, nor the inexplicable ability to
paint a picture of him.

“To come here, yes. I was raised in northern Khesh by
Acardian parents. Sir Erund grew up in Marker’s Point as a merchant’s son, and
lived for a time in Khesh, where we met,” Soria said. Brannis wondered how much
of that she had prepared ahead of time, and how much she was making up as she
went.

“This is simply fascinating. I must admit that I had a bet
going with my father. I am losing a thousand eckles for someone showing up
looking like this painting. You simply must join us for dinner this evening. My
father, Lord Harwick, would be equally interested to meet you, I am sure. It is
one of his ‘causes,’ to see the Hinterdale family compensated for the false
claims of witchcraft, and see Kyrus Hinterdale’s name cleared. His kidnapping
by pirates made the thing a right mess, but seeing as how you must be some sort
of relation, I am sure he would want to speak with you as well.”

“That—”

“That would be wonderful,” Soria cut Brannis off before he
could respond. “We shall give you back the remains of your day, then, and continue
making acquaintances this evening.”

“Yes, yes. If you have any troubles finding Harwick Manor,
just hire a carriage, and it will be taken care of,” Tomas said.

“It was very nice to meet you, Sir Erund,” Abbiley said.

Brannis felt Soria’s grip on his arm tighten as she spoke.

“Until tonight, then,” Brannis concurred.

* * * * * * * *

“Three kings,” Tanner announced, spreading his cards face up
in front of him, drawing groans from the crewmen he played against as he
gathered a pile of coins to add to his own.

Someone scooped up the discarded Talis cards, and began to
shuffle them when the tenor down in the hold changed. The sailors began to
straighten up, laughs were cut short, eyes turned their attention toward the
approaching Captain Zayne.

“At ease, men,” Captain Zayne called out ahead of him. “Mr.
Tanner, come with me. We have things to discuss.”

Tanner scraped his coins into a pouch, and hung it about his
neck, tucking it safely inside his tunic.
Maybe with luck, he is ready to
surrender
, Tanner thought.
These boys of his don’t have the coin to keep
these games interesting.

He followed Captain Zayne back to his cabin, where the
twinborn pirate closed the door, leaving just the two of them to converse
privately.

“So, had enough yet? I can let Kyrus know straightaway,”
Tanner offered.

“Stow it, Mr. Tanner,” Captain Zayne said. “You dance a bit
close to the railings as it is. If you had any idea how many times I considered
having you thrown to the sharks, you would not sleep nights.”

“‘No’ would have been fine,” Tanner said, offering a
lopsided grin in exchange for the threat.

“How well do you know Kyrus Hinterdale, Mr. Tanner?” Captain
Zayne asked.

“Barely at all, personally. Heard stories about him for
years, though, from Soria. Well, those stories were about Brannis, but, you
know, spuds ’n’ potatoes,” Tanner said with a shrug.

“Would it surprise you to know that he is now in the
business of kidnapping children?” Captain Zayne pressed.

Tanner was not sure he liked how the conversation was going.
It sounded like he was having his boots polished. He wondered if Captain Zayne
was going to try some sort of bribe.

“Hey, I’m a coinblade. I’m a hard guy to surprise with the
sticky, red side of human nature. I haven’t seen it all, but I’ve seen most of
it, ya know?”

“Kidnapping
my
child, my children … sometimes this
twinborn thing confuses even me,” Zayne said, shaking his head as he blew out a
sigh that spoke to his frustration. “I may sound like the thieving preacher for
saying so, but you are working with monsters, Mr. Tanner. Mr. Hinterdale
possibly only figuratively so, but Rashan Solaran is inhuman of mind and body.”

“Yup,” Tanner agreed.

“‘Yup’ what?” Captain Zayne pressed Tanner to clarify.

“You sound like the thieving preacher. Far as I can tell,
you went out of your way to get your reputation, Captain Scourge of the
Katamic. Can’t rightly complain when someone ignores all the nice bits of
civilized life, and does a better job at it than you,” Tanner explained. He saw
a dangerous look come over Denrik Zayne’s eyes. Tanner held his arms wide in a
universal gesture of helpless innocence. “Hey, who am I to judge? I just say
what I’m seeing; can’t claim I’m any better, I just don’t complain about it.”

“What have you got to complain about ?” Zayne asked. “You laze
about my ship, drinking rum, and keeping my men gambling at cards when they
should be working. In Veydrus, you are Kyrus’s lapdog, cozy and safe from the
war.”

“Hey, boats are great; they get you places. They’re no place
to
live,
though.”

“Hah! And here I thought you might make a fair pirate, if
you lifted a finger to work,” Zayne scoffed.

“No, thanks. I could buy this ship. I don’t need to steal
shipments of wine and spices, and divvy it eighty ways to try to make my
fortune.”

“I think you underestimate what a ship costs, Mr. Tanner,”
Captain Zayne said with a look Tanner found patronizing.

“Hundred fifty, two hundred trade bars?” Tanner guessed.

Captain Zayne frowned, and said nothing for a breath. “No.
Not quite that much.”

“Really, if you aren’t ready to surrender, what did you want
to talk to me about?” Tanner asked, tiring of trading barbs with Denrik Zayne.
“You need me to get some message to Kyrus or not?”

“Not a surrender, but an offer. A … trade. Possibly a
peace.”

“What ya offering?”

“I will give him the Staff of Gehlen … in return for the
head of Rashan Solaran,” Captain Zayne said.

“Oh, is that all?”

“No. I want my son back, too.”

* * * * * * * *

The coin flipped end over end, making its way across the
backs of Wendell’s fingers. Jadon had his hands up on the common-room table as
he leaned well across to watch intently. Twice already he had watched the coin
disappear, unable to figure out where it had gone. The Acardian five-eckle that
Wendell was using reached his index finger, and tumbled over between his finger
and thumb. He turned his hand over, and there was nothing there.

“How?” Jadon asked, using Acardian.

It was a good sign as far as Wendell was concerned. Jadon
climbed up onto the table, and took Wendell’s hand in two of his own, turning
it over, prying the fingers apart to check between them. Wendell allowed the
boy to conduct his search. Showing interest in Tellurak was what he really
needed, much more so than he needed him to find the coin. He almost felt guilty
deceiving the boy, but if using magic to hide the coin in both the light and
the aether was what it took to pique his curiosity, it was worth suffering a
bit of guilt over.

Heavy footsteps from the upper floors heralded the waking of
Zellisan. The big man had trouble recovering from the wakeful night, and
Wendell had preferred to wait for him to awaken rather than take Jadon out by
himself to perform.

“You still here? Thought you would have gone off, and left
me the boy, or at least gone to do your tricks, and take him with you. I think
he’s past the point of running off, by now,” Zellisan said once he reached the
common room. His greasy black beard and hair looked just as slovenly as ever,
his recent awakening detracting little from his typically disreputable
appearance.

“I thought this morning I might make an exception,” Wendell
said. He drew Jadon’s attention to his other hand, producing the coin, and
handing it to the boy, prompting a whole new examination, this time directed at
the mischievous currency.

“Well, under the circumstances, I can understand that,” Zell
said. “You’re welcome.”

Wendell smiled at Zellisan’s presumption.

“Well, yes, there is that. But more than that, I think your
assignment has been completed. I have Jadon, safe and recovering, and we are in
the middle of Takalia. No place is perfect but Takalia is a fair sight safer
than most lands. Jadon even has a bit of a Source in him, so he will be able to
learn real magic, not just the paltry tricks I can manage. In a year or two, he
might not even need me to defend him.”